Scratches on Skin
by kenzimone
Summary: She would have been terrified if she hadn’t recognized the scent that surrounded her so very well. AU companion piece to 'Scribbles on Napkins'. Warren/Magenta


**Title**: Scratches on Skin  
**Author**: kenzimone  
**Disclaimer**: Don't own.  
**Rating**: R  
**Summary**: She would have been terrified if she hadn't recognized the scent that surrounded her so very well. (AU)  
**Note**: Companion piece to _Scribbles on Napkins_, which I suggest you read first. For the LJ community fanfic100's 83rd prompt: 'And'.

* * *

The dull thump couldn't even constitute as a solid sound; it was more of a whisper of one, a hint of an echo down the long tunnel, bouncing and sliding against the curved walls until it interrupted itself in a low hum that slowly died out.

Magenta was close to half way there, could almost _hear_ the ticking of Royal Pain's bomb tickle the hairs of her swiveling ears, when the echo swept past her. She would have ignored it had there not been another one immediately following the first, accompanied by a low sigh that swept through the tube and gave her the impression of crawling through a whisper.

Something passed by the entrance of the tunnel, a dark shape that blocked her light for a second, and for the first time since she entered the tube, Magenta was made aware of the actual size of the small space she had been moving through.

Not for the first time of her life, she thanked her lucky stars that she wasn't claustrophobic.

"Guys?"

The end of the tunnel was less than three feet away, and she should be able to reach it in a few quick steps.

"Guys? _Hello?_"

She _should_ be able to reach it, but what good did that do when she didn't know what to do when she _got_ there? She listened for the rustle of Ethan's suit, or the sound of Zach shuffling through the blueprints, but there was only silence. Silence and… She held her breath, ignored her rapidly beating heart, and _listened_.

Silence, and someone _breathing_.

...

Turning was difficult; her body was short and stubby, and in hindsight she should have gone forward and simply rounded the bomb to head back, but at the time she was seeing black spots before her eyes and terrified whimpers were escaping her throat and sliding past her elongated front teeth, and it should have been hilarious, watching a guinea pig rise onto weak hind legs and turning around like a normal human being, stumbling and swaying.

When she landed, the shock to her front legs was great, but she ignored it and continued onward, towards the light and Ethan and Zach, who had probably just found a much simpler way to disarm a ticking bomb and had forgotten to tell her and simply wandered off, and…

She stumbled out into the light, falling from the slightly elevated tube onto a garish yellow suit. She was half way human before she even recognized it as Zach's, hysteria sinking its teeth into her and making her almost-fingers clench around the (burning, smoldering) fabric before she was brutally yanked off of the floor and her still weak fingers were ripped away from their hold by strong arms around her waist.

Magenta twisted in the grip – feeling her snout being sucked into her face to form a nose and her back – _only_ – legs straightening out – twisted, and felt her left hand lash out to catch onto soft skin; even as her bones were snapping back into their proper places, she let her still-claws fingernails rake across the surface, bucking against her offender's hold.

A growl in her ear, and she was mercilessly turned and slammed into a wall; she felt something crack in her lower back, but the pain was lightning fast and faded away just as quickly, and it was a sick realization that she had broken her tail just as it was being interwoven back into her human spine. Against her cheek, the growl morphed into a slow exhale of a groan, and pressed against the wall, eyes closed tightly as if to shut out reality of blood dripping from her fingertips and a heaving chest, she would have been terrified if she hadn't recognized the scent that surrounded her so very well.

Eyelids slowly fluttering open, Magenta swallowed and turned her face to meet the dark eyes of Warren Peace.

...

Her feet couldn't quite reach the floor, and for that she was glad. She was suspended by her shoulders an inch or two above the tile of the corridor, above the two crumpled bodies and the singed blueprints and the glass shards from Ethan's glasses that littered the ground; pressed - _merged_ – against a cold wall and a warm body, thin cloth of her dress skirt ripping at the seams at the _brutality_ of it all, and she couldn't think of a thing to do.

A blank canvas, Magenta thought, and allowed her breath to hitch as Warren shifted and turned his face sideways, forcing her head to roll against the wall behind her; a blank canvas, and then there was her and Warren and whatever other relevant details needed were slowly – oh so slowly – being filled in, but for now there was only them, and then Warren inhaled against her temple, and she could do nothing but let her eyes flutter closed again.

She could not escape the irony of it all, could not block out the countless flashes of _want_ that bombarded her; could not forget wishing for this, _longing_ for this. _Hoping_ for this, but yet not _this_, because Warren shifted again, and she couldn't quite stop the shiver down her spine as his hand drifted from her right shoulder to the side of her neck, couldn't quite ignore the way she could feel his smile – _teeth_ – against the skin of her cheek as she exhaled, and then the shoe on her left foot (already so precariously hanging only by the tip of her toes) slipped off, and she felt something soft tickle her heel, and it was only too late that she realized that it was _Ethan's hair_.

...

She cried out, or would have had Warren's hand not slid to the front of her throat and slowly _squeezed_, effectively cutting off her air supply and leaving her sagging against his chest, feet pushing off of the wall in an attempt to escape the body beneath her, catching Warren by surprise as she pressed into him and made him stumble back a step; the grip on her throat loosened, and she gratefully gulped down the lungfuls of fresh air that were suddenly available to her.

Before she even realized she was doing it, Magenta opened her mouth to scream (for help, or in alarm, or to fling curses at the boy in front of her, she didn't know), but was caught off guard by a lightning fast slap to the side of her face; she sagged down onto the ground, tripping over Zach's right leg as she landed in a heap at Warren's feet, right side of her face throbbing and with the taste of her own blood filling her mouth.

Hardly a breath passed, and he was down on his knees, pulling her towards him, pressing her down against the tile and gripping the sides of her face with his hands; she gasped in surprise, their teeth knocking together as the blood streaming down the side of his face mingled with the red drops dotting her lips and chin, body instinctively arching against the hand trailing over her chest and down her side to momentarily rest on her hipbone.

Even with her eyes closed, Magenta's vision swam, spinning in circles and making the world stand on end until she didn't quite know if the breathy moan that exchanged mouths came from him or her; Warren was pressing down harder now, lowering his weight onto her even as his lips left hers in favor of the side of her throat, hand fumbling its way up her leg to push the dress up to bunch around her waist.

There was a slight puff of smoke, and Magenta hissed as hot fingers pressed against the inside of her thigh and she felt the pressure of her pantyhose give way; the sensation curved around that of the fire spreading in her stomach, and coupled with the heavy smell of smoke that hung over the red streaked hair draped against her cheek, she couldn't quite figure out if she was on fire or not.

The rip of the sheer fabric cut through the air like a knife, and Warren leaned back long enough to give Magenta a chance to gasp for air and throw an arm out to her side; her fingers sought something to brace herself against, but landed instead on the soft cloth of the jacket covering Ethan's small frame.

She could feel her eyes widen in some indescribable emotion, but that was as far as she got before Warren leaned back down to wrench her head back, thumb lodged beneath her chin, and smeared his lips against hers again. She began fighting then, snapping at his lips with her teeth and bringing her knees up to push and try to pry him off of her. He growled again, throwing his head back to let his hair fall behind his shoulders, and shifted his weight to grab her flailing arms and pin them down; twisted, and straddled her hips, and whatever fire Magenta had been feeling in the pit of her stomach faded and was replaced by ice fingers trailing along her limbs and grabbing her heart in a terrifying grasp.

"_Stop_," Warren hissed from behind clenched teeth. "Stop moving."

And she did, because even though her chest was heaving in panic and the world was spinning again, she was alert enough to recognize the tendrils of smoke rising from beneath the fingers that were clamped around her wrists.

Warren leaned down, lips brushing by her right ear, and she fought the urge to turn and sink her teeth into his face knowing it'd do her more harm than good. He exhaled against her skin, a slow stream of air that turned into a hushing sound; "I don't want to hurt you."

Magenta blinked against the fluorescent lights lining the corridor ceiling, knowing the lie for what it was. She licked her too dry lips, her tongue tender from where she'd bitten it when he'd lashed out. "Are they dead?"

Warren didn't even turn to look at the two slumped bodies next to them. Instead, he simply grinned against her skin again, fingers around her wrists flexing; "Not yet." He moved, shifted and swept down to tug at her lower lip with his teeth; withdrew, and grinned dangerously again, blood dripping down the side of his face. "Going to play nice now?"

She didn't answer, simply focused on a spot beyond his left shoulder, and he gave a low hum, tentatively relaxing his grip on her arms as he leaned down again. The blow took him by surprise and truth be told, it did Magenta too, because she had not planned on bringing her head up to crash into his forehead; hadn't been anticipating the sharp ache of bone striking bone, because it was pure instinct and a stupid thing to do.

Warren snarled again, this time sounding more animal like than human, and his hands left her wrists and encircled her throat as she watched his eyes narrow and felt his grip _squeeze_.

"Bitch," he hissed. "That was damn stupid."

She would have called him a few choice names that were running around her head, but she couldn't _breathe_, and felt utterly foolish, lying on the floor with her dress hiked up to her waist and torn pantyhose and gaping for air like a fish out of water. Her hands tugged weakly against Warren's wrists, but he didn't budge, and she did the only thing she could think of: she pleaded, lips moving soundlessly and forming non-words as the world began to fade.

It was then that – and she couldn't be quite sure since blackness was encroaching fast and Warren was beginning to blue at the edges – then that she thought she felt his grip falter and something of a grimace sweep across his features. There was another curse, and the grip on her throat loosened, and all she could think of was the feeling of air flowing freely into her lungs once again, and it was a sensation she would never trade for anything else in the world.

Slowly, and only faintly, she could feel Warren run a hand up the side of her face and up into her hair, almost tenderly, carefully grasping a fistful of black and purple at the crown of her head and lifting it; there was a brief rush of air against her ears as he pushed her down again hard and fast, and a sharp pain as the back of her head struck the stone tiles. And then, there was nothing more.


End file.
